


the good ones always seem to break

by doji_oji



Series: spn episode codas [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comforting Castiel, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Episode Tag, Episode: s13e18 Bring 'em Back Alive, Gen, Holding Hands, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, not terribly dean friendly i suppose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 08:35:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14304891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doji_oji/pseuds/doji_oji
Summary: That's the thing he and Castiel have in common, Sam thinks: their bodies are not their own.13x18 tag, post-Dean storming off at the end.





	the good ones always seem to break

**Author's Note:**

> yes hello sam flinching when dean started throwing stuff is number 1 on my list of Things That Are Not Okay.

It’s only when Sam hears the distant sound of a door slamming that he can finally bring himself to breathe, to come alive again—and even then, it’s only in fits and starts. That’s how he copes, when he gets like this: sorts his thoughts into two columns, those to be dealt with and those to push down. Right now, he can’t think about Dean. Can’t think about the anger he saw there, so bright and hot (so  _ Lucifer-like _ , he doesn’t think,  _ can’t  _ think) that Sam flinched away instinctively, expecting pain.

A touch on his arm, feather-light, draws him from his thoughts. “Sam?” Castiel asks quietly. “You’re bleeding.”

Sam blinks, swallows, looks down and finds that Cas is right: he had his hands curled so tight that his nails broke through the skin of his palm, and blood is dripping between his fingers. He didn’t even notice. He doesn’t notice the small things, anymore. Not since Hell. There’s nothing quite like spending a thousand years as the devil’s chew toy to shoot your pain threshold to shit. 

“Sam,” Castiel says again, more insistently. Sam is breathing too fast. Cas steers him to a chair, turned so it faces away from the mess of torn up books and smashed lamp fragments Dean left in his wake, and Sam drops into it like his legs can’t hold him anymore. Castiel sits in front of him, gently takes Sam’s hands in his own. Castiel’s hands— _ Jimmy’s  _ hands (that’s the thing he and Castiel have in common, Sam thinks vaguely: their bodies are not their own)—are warm and dry, rough but not unpleasantly so, and so, so careful where they cradle Sam’s bloody palms. “Is it all right if I heal you?” Castiel asks softly. 

After Lucifer and Gadreel, the thought of grace touching him,  _ changing  _ him, is enough to make Sam feel sick. Dean never understood that. But Cas does. So he nods, and watches dispassionately as the little crescent-shaped marks on his palm glow blue then close over. “Thanks,” Sam manages. “I should clean up,” he adds, but doesn’t move. His hands are still in Castiel’s. He can’t remember how long it’s been since anyone has touched him like this: gentle, without trying to cause him pain. It’s something of a novel concept. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Castiel murmurs, and starts stroking his thumbs back and forth across Sam’s palms. It’s nice. Sam likes it. 

 

They stay like that for a long time. 


End file.
